From where she was standing, she could see just how badly overgrown and untidy the cottage garden had become since she and Dora had fled Philip’s violence that evening after the village fête all those months ago. Although he had been there alone for only a few days after Ellen and Dora had left, the cottage had been beyond filthy by the time he was carted off, first to hospital and then to the asylum, having been officially declared insane. Returning only to visit it weeks later, when all the formalities had been dealt with, Dora had seen it with new eyes and had been appalled at its shabbiness. Having worked so hard on the house, she and Ellen now needed to tackle the garden before the weeds took over entirely. Ellen felt the stirrings of excitement within her when she thought of restoring this patch of ground, not just to its former glory but beyond what it had even been before. It could be their special project for the spring: a little garden with which they could do whatever they wanted. There was so little in life where they had such freedom!

She went inside where Dora had a pot of tea ready.

‘Hello, Nell. How was Mr Shepherd this afternoon? I saw you pass Audrey Mason a few minutes ago – she came to admire the decorating.’

‘She wouldn’t be admiring the garden, though, Mum. I’ve just noticed how bad it’s got. It’s grown up since even last week. Let’s see if we can do a bit each week and get it back in shape by Easter. What do you say? Uncle Tom can mebbe lend some heft – I know he wouldn’t mind – and Ed, too.’

‘Thank you, Nell. Good idea – I’ve been feeling a bit down about it – but we mustn’t take advantage of our menfolk.’

Ellen beamed. ‘Our menfolk, Mum – yes.’ They exchanged smiles. Neither pried into the other’s private life but discreetly looked out for each other. It was Ellen’s greatest wish to see her mother happy, but she and Uncle Tom would have to find their own way in their own time. She wouldn’t interfere.

‘Oh, and I have some strange news,’ Ellen went on, looking serious. ‘Mrs Thwaite has died. A heart attack, Mr Shepherd said. Sal and me saw the funeral procession – not many mourners – and we wondered if Mr and Mrs Stellion knew about it. Seems odd if no one saw fit to tell them after all the time Mrs Thwaite worked for them.’